


Grown men on a field trip

by mellyb6



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos looks really ecstatic, Constance scares them all, Decorating a house, Modern AU, Not Following Instructions, Or not, paint fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan and Constance just bought a house in Gascony. Their friends volunteer to help redecorating it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grown men on a field trip

It's a small house in a small village, nestled among vineyards and forest. Admittedly, the boys did get lost finding it last night. But since the accident that not even a GPS could help with, they've shared more than a couple of beers and wine bottles, they've camped inside, the weather so nice they left the windows open. 

And Constance and Anne have biked to the small bakery to buy a massive amount of croissants and chocolatines, enough to keep four grown men from grumbling that they're too old to sleep on the floor. 

D'Artagnan is still glad they agreed to help redecorate the small house he has acquired with Constance, close to his family estate in Gascony. Because now that he's a landowner, it wouldn't make sense to live in Paris, so far away from where his business is. 

Constance doesn't mind one bit. They've been here for two months already, two gorgeous spring months, and she likes the peace and quiet. She likes the large backyard with the orchard and the vegetable patch, she likes the large space where they intend to build a swimming pool. 

She loves the fireplace, the massive beams on the ceiling. 

She adores the old-fashioned tube they bought for the upstairs bathroom. 

She likes having so many rooms to furnish and decorate to her liking. 

She dreads leaving d'Artagnan and his three friends to themselves with brushes and buckets of paint. 

D'Artagnan is a bit overwhelmed by the three others, and their apparent inability to listen to what he pictures for his house. 

Athos seems to be sleeping on his feet, a large mug of coffee in his hand, but his eyes half-closed. 

Aramis prefers to make never-ending suggestions about different furniture layouts for the living room, which is absolutely not the task at end. Besides, Constance would kill him if he dared touch one thing. 

Porthos is sunbathing by the window. There's a soft breeze on that July morning and after all, they're on a vacation. His face is turned towards the sun, his mouth is partly open in delight and he's brought out of his day-dream by a shrill. 

“You're dripping paint on the floor!”

Aramis watches with amusement as d'Artagnan rushes forward, yanks Porthos's paintbrush from his hand and returns it to the bucket. His scream is enough to wake up Athos. 

“It's only a little paint.”

“On the wooden floor! Do you have any idea how old it is?”

“Yes. More than a century old. I do believe your wife told us about it about five times last night.”

“So you know what she'll do to you if you stain it.” 

d'Artagnan attempts to throw a dark look at Aramis when he hears his chuckle, but he seems so worried by Constance's ire that he fails miserably. 

“Come on, then. Let's get to work before Constance comes back and sets him on fire for ignoring her orders. Blue for the bedroom, am I correct?”

“Yes, thank you. But only the walls that...”

“....are marked as such. Yes, I do remember,” Aramis finishes for his friend before he grabs his own bucket of paint and strides upstairs.

“I'd better go with him. You don't want your bed to end up somewhere it shouldn't,” Porthos decides, following behind. 

D'Artagnan waits a couple of seconds in silence, worried that he might hear sounds which would turn the day into a catastrophe. But nothing scraps on the floor, nobody shouts at the other for not listening. Everything is quiet and he relaxes. 

Athos is still sipping on his coffee, brush forgotten as he sits on the couch and contemplates the wall he's been assigned to paint. 

“Grey is a bit depressing, don't you think?”

“Perhaps, but you saw what we'll put on it. It'll make you forget the colour underneath ,” d'Artagnan reminds him, showing him yet again the picture of the family tree (literally) Constance has in mind to create to hang pictures of friends and family. They're all hidden in a box for the time being and that's so sad. 

“Right.” Athos takes another sip. 

D'Artagnan sighs, dips his brush in the paint and finally get to work. Athos watches. 

The girls take their time returning home. It's nice and warm in the village, everybody smiles at everyone. Constance feels like she already knows all the inhabitants, might as well be acquainted with all of them. It's different from Paris, but a life she could definitely get used to. 

There's music blasting from the house when they make their way home. All the windows are open and they wave back at Aramis who watches them approach from the upstairs bedroom. Then he's interrupted by Porthos and the swift paintbrush which leaves a blue stain on his cheek. 

Aramis squeals, disappears from their sight. 

“They seem to be having more fun than this morning,” Anne says. Constance only frows, hopes they're not making a mess. She hurries up: they're bound to.

“You never know with these two, though.”

“True.”

By the time they put away their bikes and bring their supplies inside, it sounds like a riot is going on above their heads. 

D'Artagnan looks terrified, even more when he realizes his wife is back. Athos must be oblivious to the noise and the stampede as he manages to focus on his task. He leisurely applies slow strokes of paint on the wall, drawing an abstract painting rather than doing a better and more professional job. Constance ignores him for the time being. 

“I warned them,” d'Artagnan apologizes right away. 

“I know you did.” Constance pats his cheek fondly, gives him a kiss and swipes locks of hair from his eyes. “It's not your fault if your friends are forever kids.”

There's a loud crashing sound interrupting them, and Constance cringes. 

“We're fine!” comes Porthos's shout. Then he yelps and Anne beats her friend at rushing up the stairs to prevent some of the incoming argument and scolding. 

She's baffled by the battlefield she strumbles upon. One wall is half-blue so at least the boys did start what they were supposed to do. But the rest of the paint is making a puddle on the thankfully plastic-covered floor. 

Porthos is in the process of wrestling Aramis who wields his brush like a sword, trying to inflict as much damage to his friend's face as was done to his. So far, he's only managed to colour some of Porthos's hair. 

Aramis's dirty tee-shirt is stained beyond repair, his cheeks and neck have drying paint on them. One wall which is still mainly white appears to have had man-sized brushes used to decorate it. 

Anne can hardly contain her laughter and waits, hands on her hips, until the two men realize they are being watched. 

“Hey, Porthos, look! My girlfriend's back!” Porthos growls at that, kisses Aramis loudly on the cheek, gets his lips blue for his trouble. Anne is still giggling. 

“What are you doing exactly?”

“Painting, of course! Did you bring back croissants?” Aramis answers innocently, breaks free from Portho's arms, scratches his cheek. He's smiling widely, looking like the happiest kid in the world.

“Yes, but I don't think I should share them with you after that...” She motions to the room, backs away as he stalks toward her until she hits a wall and has to stop. 

Her giggles lessen when Aramis steps in front of her, hands on her arms and he leans close.

“That won't do. I've been working so hard, contributing to help Constance. I deserve them.”

He distracts her with a kiss on her bare shoulder, keeps going until Anne wraps her arms around his waist. 

And throws her onto the bed, holds her down while Porthos paints curvy lines on her cheeks and neck, tickles her with his fingers. 

“You're a menace!” she jokes between bouts of laughter. Aramis's grip on her is strong and there's no way she'll set herself free. “You too!” she adds, shaking her head to avoid Porthos's fingers. Half of her fair hair is turning blue. 

“We take baked good very seriously,” Porthos explains once he decides that he's done and he plops on the bed beside them. Aramis nods to confirm. Anne tuts. 

“More than me?”

“We'd never!” is their joined answer, followed by two loud kisses on her cheeks. 

“My bed!” is d'Artagnan's horrified shriek.


End file.
